I Was Blind Before I Met You: Chapter 2
by Aiden Crane
Summary: A bit of Madalene DaFoe's "History"...and then we're torqued back to present time. Mag muses over her beginnings with Marni and GeneCo-the illusions and promises-as she makes her way from the Wallace house to the opera house.


For whatever the child Mag seemed to lack in her blindness, she made up for with her prodigious mind and her almost unsettling sense of wisdom. After the young girl had grown tired of her small library of well worn braille books, she begged her parents to have more imported from other countries—countries that didn't have a monstrous ban on the wide variety of subjects she was interested in. In earnest, it really didn't matter if there was a ban on books...Compared to the overall population, there was a very small percentage of visually impaired individuals who read in braille.

"I could walk into the Department of Justice with one of my books and no one would know the difference," the young girl astutely pointed out in a quiet, sweet voice when her parents hesitated at the request to import contraband. And that was true, clever girl that she was. So, they began to happily indulge their precocious daughter and her voracious appetite for knowledge. As an only child, she had plenty of uninterrupted hours to study music and poetry throughout the ages. Ancient Greek tragedies enthralled her. Medieval British fantasy enchanted her. She was a child of heroes and heroines—of beauty and romance...Mag was in love with the lost and forgotten.  
Magdalene is her given name. Religion was never spoken of in the DeFoe home, but sometimes the young Mag would wonder: whatever possessed her parents to name her after a follower of an Eastern teacher? That year, for her birthday, Magdalene's obliging parents bought her a Christian Bible and a thin book that was supposedly written by her namesake. The Lost Scriptures Of Mary Magdalene. Luckily, she found that the thick bible had an index which helped her quickly find passages about Mary Magdalene. She didn't read much of the bible, but Mag was enamored of the verses about love and that was enough for her. The sweet psalms gave her comfort; she grew to love her own name. She was happy to be called by the name of an extraordinary female visionary and seer, (even if the woman was a former prostitute). The city Mag grew up in was hardly a place for books as she knew them, but after the epidemic hit the continent, there **really** wasn't a place for them. Classic beauty became twisted and vain, fantasy became perverted and brazen...The plague killed everything Mag loved. Just like the prickly, sweet rose bush in the back yard that she loved to smell and touch. Everything died violently and abruptly, including her parents. Though the dark beauty was blind, her entire world lost its luster. Mag herself was lost. She could vaguely remember the time she spent in a crowded foster home, and then the quiet, sad home of an Aunt who had lost her husband and children. Mag's life passed before her in a blur...until she became a teenager and met Marni. Marni was bright and outgoing, and the two became fast friends. They complemented each other well, and it was easy for Mag to grow attached to her new friend. After what seemed like an eternity of austerity and heartache, Marni was a ray of sunshine that brightened Mag's life. Their trusting connection was the closest thing to a flesh and blood lover that Mag had ever experienced. How lucky she felt. She could hardly believe it was real. And then, Marni met Rotti...

Rotti had been incredibly generous when the two young women first met him. And Marni, being Marni, fell for his charms quickly, but persuaded him to help her dear friend Magdalene. On the afternoon that Mag walked into the GeneCo headquarters for the first time, Marni prepped her excitedly. Because GeneCo was a brand new corporation and barely off the ground, Marni knew that Rotti needed a beautiful face and marketing voice to speak for him, which would let him focus on the logistics. Marni believed that the three of them would be the founding forces behind the company, and she believed that Rotti was being altruistic when he had offered to help the blind Magdalene to see for the first time.

 _Our fate is changing, Mag! You'll do wonderfully—I have full confidence in you. Don't_

 _worry...He looks a bit gruff, but he's really a big teddy bear..._

Rotti was elated to hear Mag's exceptional voice. He gave her a standing ovation when she sang for him in his office. She signed on the dotted line and became his investment. As synonymous with the dollar sign as a paper note.  
Mag imagined herself as a younger woman, with the afternoon sun streaming through Rotti's grand office windows, with a pen in her hand and poised to sign her life away..

 _Please don't leave! Come back!_

GeneCo's diva could still hear Shilo banging on the glass door and her desperate voice pleading for Mag to stay. She wished she could have stayed.

"Shilo...My long lost, Shilo..." Mag whispered to the window, looking at nothing beyond the faint glow of her own reflection as her limo coasted through the dark city.

 _I wish there was something that I could do, Shilo. You're too kind to be kept alone in that mausoleum—too good to be ruined so early on in your life...If only I hadn't signed that contract! I could have taken Marni's hand that afternoon and ran from GeneCo and Rotti— maybe then I would have been able to keep a closer watch over you...'Teddy bear,' my arse. But then, would Marni have met Nathan? Would you be anything like who you are now, Shilo?_

Mag felt anxious and desperately tried to find a train of thought that would allow her to take the blame for Shilo's predicament, but she could not find one. Nothing made sense, and nothing could take away the gut wrenching guilt. Her own harried thoughts made her nauseous, which was only made worse by the sight of the Genetic Opera house coming into view—sickeningly bright and gaudy.

 _You never deserved her, Rotti. Not for one second, you snake. Marni vouched for you and_

 _convinced me that a GeneCo surgery would change my life for the better_... _Is love blind?_

Mag gathered up her skirts and stepped out of the limousine and onto the red carpet that lead to the overinflated entrance of the theatre.

 _I was never more blind in my life than the moment I let myself become chained to you, Rotti Largo..._

The diva pulled up the hood of her black gown and literally laughed aloud at the tragic irony. She was so engrossed in her thoughts that she didn't even acknowledge the driver and simply shut the car door.

 _Marni, we were so naïve...He could never deserve you in a thousand lifetimes._

The voice of GeneCo kept her face turned to the ground—concealed in the shadow of her hood, and tried to make herself invisible as she passed the uniformed porter who opened the door for her at the mouth of the theatre. Once inside, Mag quickly strode through the foyer to a humbly camouflaged backstage entrance. The backstage corridors were already bustling with performers, stage hands, hair and make-up artists, Genterns...The clamor and chaos made Mag wince. Dramatic voices, barking voices, lewd moans, shrill laughter...All of it was like milk curdling in her stomach—like maggots wriggling under her skin, begging for entrance! Repulsed and disgusted, she blocked it out.

 _Christ, I would rather like to be blind now. Please...I wish I would have never signed that paper,_

 _more than anything! Bloody hell, let me be blind or let me die already..._

She quickened her stride and arrived at her dressing room door just when she thought she would be revolted to the point of vomiting right there in the hallway. Several glass oil lamps burned at full wick throughout the medium sized room. Mag left the door open, turned on a portable floor fan and aimed it at the open door.

"I might die from carbon monoxide right now and ruin our plans, Rotti..." She spoke to the silent room, turning out all but one lamp—and even dimmed that one to half of it's original flare. And Blind Mag did have a plan. She ruminated on the idea as she went to the porcelain wash basin to dab at her face and neck with a damp cloth. Walking into the opera house made her feel so dirty. She unstoppered a small vial that was perched in the stand and let a few drops of it's liquid fall into her palm. Her senses glimmered as they recognized her favorite smell: rose oil. She rubbed her palms together and lightly pat her face and neck with the scent.

 _This place is so vile..._

She wasn't sure if she meant the opera house or the city in general.

 _I can smell the death._

Momentarily comforted, she absently turned on an electric tea kettle that was already filled with water. Out of habit, Mag set out her tea cup, a tin of herbs, a small jar of honey, a loose tea steeper, and one teaspoon.

 _What a morbid scene...I'm devising a way to maim myself in front of thousands of live and televised viewers and preparing my mundane, pre-performance ritual of tea and honey. A martyr with more forethought would have asked Rotti to import a damned bottle of wine for her last drink, at least. Actually, this tea will do just fine. I feel too ill for alcohol anyway._

The weary Mag craved the support of the plush, claw-footed couch. She turned off the fan, closed the door, and dropped herself into the silent embrace of the black velvet brocade cushions.

"I have to do this. Either I will, or a RepoMan will—and I don't want to give one of Rotti's dogs the satisfaction..." She needed to hear herself say it. She braced herself for her violent and grotesque plan in the gravity of every syllable.

 _The public will be shocked, and surely the events of tonight will be plastered all over the tabloids and Rotti's tyranny exposed. Let's hope the fans of Blind Mag will be as loyal as they claim and they turn on GeneCo. With any hope, they'll free themselves of him. As I will..._

"Blind Mag will die, and Magdalene Defoe will be free once again, at long last. And when the

time comes, I will not fear the pain. For their sake and for mine, I will not be afraid..." She shuddered inwardly, and the tea kettle screamed like a soprano. Listlessly, the diva stood and flicked the burner off as she poured herself a steaming cup of water. A practiced gesture that, to a denser observer, may look graceful instead of hopelessly slowed. Unhurried, Mag pinched the herbs from the metal tin and filled the tea steeper. She was still wearing her hood, but brushed a dark wave of hair from her eyes as she dipped the teaspoon into the honey jar.

"Rotti won't let me get away with this, will he? We're all replaceable. He's so rich now, he could offer a hundred performers new contracts. To him, we are all made of gold to be bought and sold. Disposable. He'll kill me, for sure. Won't he?" Eerily, the diva almost sang the words as she bobbed the tea steeper in her cup and turned the spoon to stir the honey in rhythm with her dark sing-song thoughts. The soprano thought of Shilo, and she blew clouds of mist from the brim. The cup felt heavy, as if she held Shilo herself in her hands, and she was overcome with sorrow. On this night, Mag may very well be ripped away from the young woman she swore to protect. Again, and this time, forever. Hot, stinging tears rushed to the surface of Mag's eyes, but would not fall. She wanted relief, just for a moment, but could only set her tea down on the carved wood table before her and fall into the couch again. The expression in her synthetic eyes looked vacant suddenly before she hugged her thin arms over her knotting stomach and squeezed her eyes closed, hoping to stir herself out of shock.

 _I could die tonight...Isn't that what I've wanted?_ She buried her eyes in her palms and shakily gasped the still air.

"I wish I could see you one last time, Shilo. I'm so sorry..." The diva spoke into the dark.  
Mag drew one knee to her chest beneath her long flowing dress and leaned against the high back of the couch. The woman could not tell, but surely she passed many minutes in this position, buried deep within her raw interior landscape. She neither stirred nor lifted her head to greet the hollow, gentle knock on her dressing room door...


End file.
